Sickle for Your Thoughts
by In Dreams
Summary: After a potions accident reveals her innermost thoughts to Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger is in trouble.


**Author's Note: **A birthday gift to the most wonderful Kyonomiko with a couple of her favourite Dramione things. Thank you for always being so willing to listen to my millions of jumbled ideas. I hope you enjoy, and have a wonderful birthday!

Alpha credits to LadyKenz347; this piece is unbeta'd and errors are my own.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise, and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

"Are you paying _any_ attention?"

Steely grey eyes lifted to meet hers. "Not in the slightest."

Huffing impatiently, Hermione Granger folded her arms across her chest, scowling at the only other occupant of the room, Draco Malfoy. "Then what are we even doing here?"

With a derisive snort, he rolled his eyes and looked away. "I can't speak for you and your bleeding heart, but I'd sooner listen to you drone on than sit in an Azkaban cell."

"I do not _drone on_," she snapped, leaning back to rest against the desk.

He was drawing something, with a Muggle pen, nonetheless, and when Hermione stalked closer her eyes narrowed. One pale brow lifted. Malfoy was doodling what appeared to be a series of stylistic Dark Marks, some of them worked into other images, and the artwork was reminiscent of tattoos. They were actually quite good, and Hermione found herself momentarily distracted before she turned to face him again, scowling.

They were in a small Ministry room that had been fashioned into a classroom of sorts for the Ministry's new remedial studying program for students affected by the occurrences of the war.

Of course, when Hermione had agreed to act as one of the tutors, she had been expecting a younger student, maybe one – or several – preparing for their OWLs, that she might be able to imprint with some of her wisdom.

Not Draco _bleeding_ Malfoy.

Kingsley had conveniently left out that part.

Hermione didn't even understand why he was in the program in the first place – they were the same year, for one, and he wasn't daft by any stretch of the imagination. If she recalled correctly – and she usually did – he was always just behind her in class marks.

"Anyways," Malfoy interrupted, drawing a careful line on his parchment, "you don't need to go on about this at all. If you just leave me alone I'll get the potion done."

Sighing, Hermione dropped into the nearest seat. "Why are you here?"

"Told you," he drawled, not looking up from his project, "it was this or Azkaban. And if you think this isn't just a convoluted way for the Ministry to keep its finger on me despite my acquittal, you're dense."

"I am not dense," she retorted, eyes tightening.

The first few days of their lessons had gone about as abysmally as Hermione had expected when she learned it was Malfoy she was to be working with. He was largely disinclined to pay any attention to what she had to say, and she was already fed up with his irreverent attitude. His flippant disregard for her time made her blood boil.

He didn't even bother to dress in appropriate school attire; more often than not he showed up in a t-shirt and jeans, whereas she wore her Hogwarts oxford and skirt.

"Then don't act it." Snickering, he shook his head. "The ironic part is that _I've_ actually got more NEWT-level Potions instruction than you have."

And it _was_ true. They would be sitting their NEWTs together in two months, as an offering of the Ministry to the students who were unable to complete their final year at Hogwarts. It was either that or return for an entire additional eighth year, and so few students had opted to return that the Ministry had offered the expedited summer program.

But the way Malfoy still acted as if the world owed him, after everything that had happened during the war, left an unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Fine." Hermione huffed, stretching her legs out in front of her as she stared at the floor, already mentally strained from dealing with him and they still had four hours to go. "Go ahead with the potion then."

Cautiously, Malfoy tucked the sheet of parchment between the pages of a text, before his gaze landed on her, his grey eyes lidded and discerning in a way that caused a twist in her gut. He drawled, "Oh, great and wonderful tutor. _How gracious you are_."

Then with the makings of a sneer, he laid out his potions equipment and set to work.

* * *

An hour later, Hermione was working on her own potion when she glanced up, feeling Malfoy's stare on her.

"Have you got any lacewing flies? I've run out," he asked, fixing her with an expectant stare, and huffing a breath, Hermione dug through her own bag and walked over a small jar.

"What are you doing with them?" She peered at the shimmering contents of his cauldron. "They aren't required for this potion."

"I know." The words were bit out, and when Hermione continued to stare, he clicked his tongue. "It increases the duration."

"No it doesn't," she snapped, eyes narrowing. "There's no evidence to suggest that anywhere."

She was reminded of Harry's experiences in sixth year with that bloody textbook, and how the Half-Blood Prince had always been tweaking the recipes. Malfoy gave her a slow smirk that brought a flush to her face.

Then he clicked his tongue again, shaking his head. "Believe what you want, Granger."

Pressing her lips into a thin line, she reached to reclaim the jar. "I'm not letting you add this to your potion. It's wrong, and it would result in your potion failing if this were an examination."

His hand held firm, and he yanked it back, loosening the lid and extracting a scoopful before eyeing his own potion and giving a certain number of turns, counter-clockwise. He ground out, "Mind your own."

"No," she hissed, reaching for his wrist to steer his teaspoon away.

Grey eyes snapped up to meet hers, and his stare narrowed, a sneer pulling at his mouth again. The fingers of his other hand coiled around her wrist, tight enough that she moved to extract her hand, her grip on his wrist loosening.

She reached around him to grab the remaining lacewings in the jar, and snickering, he dumped the teaspoon in. They both watched as the potion fizzled, crackling as it shifted colour. A tight breath caught in Hermione's throat as she eyed the resulting changes, taking a careful step back from the popping liquid, and she knocked her other hand into his shoulder in her distraction as she reclaimed the jar. He turned to face her, presumably to drawl some bigoted nonsense, when his shoulder struck the jar, throwing the entirety of its contents into the cauldron.

There was only time to catch his widened gaze as the potion erupted.

* * *

After a thorough examination at St Mungo's, Hermione made her way home, irritated at the happenings of the day. She wasn't looking forward to dealing with Malfoy again the following day, and she hoped he'd thrown the blasted potion out.

The Healers had assured her that nothing had gone wrong with her or her magical core, and that the potion hadn't affected her in any adverse ways that they could tell. But with the knowledge that Malfoy had been tweaking his potion with additions beyond the recipe, she wasn't sure what to think.

She hadn't even been paying close enough attention to what he was brewing.

For all she knew, Malfoy's potion was affecting her in some way that had yet to reveal itself.

The next day she ventured to the Ministry, wishing she simply didn't have to work with the blond prat at all. But she had made a commitment to Kingsley, if nothing else, and she had never been the type to run from a fight.

Malfoy was already in the classroom, working on his sketches from the day before. They trained Transfiguration first thing, which was good because there could be no more disastrous potions mishaps. Flickering briefly to her, his gaze held no remorse for the altercation of the day before, and Hermione decided she would do her best to put it behind them for the sake of her sanity.

Rifling through her notes, she could practically hear his sigh of irritation, and she peered closer at her notes as she spoke. "We're at human transfiguration."

"I know," he scoffed. "My memory isn't that short."

"Excuse me?" Her tight stare lifted to land on him and his expression was blank.

"Nothing." Curiously, his brow dropped. "Go on with your droning."

Turning back to her notes and shaking her head, Hermione asked, "Shall we work on the grip and wand movements?"

"Only if you're gripping my wand," he snickered.

Eyes flying open, Hermione turned to glare at him. "_What_?"

Cocking a brow, his lips were parted. "Nothing."

"That is _incredibly _inappropriate," Hermione ground out, feeling a hot flush colouring her cheeks. Malfoy's eyes tightened as he stared at her, and his lips twitched with a hint of humour.

"I didn't say anything, Granger."

Denial seemed an odd tactic when they were the only two in the room, and she scowled as she returned to the lesson once more. "Fine. Whatever you say, Malfoy."

"Sickle for your thoughts?"

Her gaze snapped back to land on him again and he was smirking, lips twitching as if he was about to break into a laugh.

"Wand movements," he enunciated, nodding as he fixed his expression blank. His grey eyes raked over her and something heated coiled in her stomach. He may have been a prat, but Hermione could admit he was attractive, and the way he was eyeing her did a certain _something_ to her that wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"Really," he murmured, with a bit of a chuckle. "That's interesting." When she glanced up at him, frowning, his lips cracked into a slow, crooked grin. He dragged his bottom lip between his teeth, and the flush deepened as Hermione hastened to look away.

Uncertain whether to ignore him or berate him, she found herself slipping into a seat across the room, her gaze fixed on the wall as she began her lecture.

"Boring," Malfoy drawled, "stand back up so I can at least stare at your arse in that skirt."

"Malfoy!" Hermione exclaimed, fury and warmth racing through her at once as she turned to glare at him.

He leveled her with an incredulous sort of grin, his brows high on his forehead. "I'm only testing a theory, Granger. You're fine."

Turning in her seat, and refusing to stand, she folded her arms. "And what's this theory?"

His secretive smile made her stomach twist again as his grey eyes held hers. "The theory is that you're still being affected by my potion from yesterday."

The blood drained from her face and her heart stuttered in her chest. "And what exactly did you do to your potion that wasn't according to the recipe?"

"I wasn't using a recipe at all." He waved a dismissive hand. "That was a potion of my own creation. _But_ I'm going to enjoy this, so I'm not in a rush to tell you about it."

"Malfoy," she ground through her teeth, stomping closer to glare at him. "You're going to tell me _right now_ what was in that potion, or I will personally see to it that you end up in Azkaban."

His tongue swept out to moisten his lips, before his lips pressed together, his throat bobbing. His voice was soft as he murmured, "Do go on with your anger." Ignoring her irritated huff, he added, "All you need to know is that it won't cause either of us any harm. But given you dumped an entire jar of lacewing flies into the nearly completed mixture, my estimations are that this will wear off in a few days. Or longer – who knows, really."

He was infuriating and annoying, and an utter _pestilence_ –

Barking a laugh, he looked away.

But she couldn't keep the warmth in her core from tightening at the way the muscles of his arms flexed within the sleeves of his t-shirt as he leaned back in his seat, propping his hands behind his head.

His grey eyes found hers once more, that same tantalizing smirk on his lips.

"You know, Granger," he mused, "you hide this all so well."

"Hide _what_?" she snapped, fed up with the way he was dancing around the subject. But there was something about his stare, something leading. As if he were hinting at it and waiting for her to comprehend.

"They always said you were brilliant," he went on, his voice soft and gaze significant as he leaned forward again.

It clicked at once, then, and she swallowed thickly, feeling uneasy. She could only choke in a ragged whisper, "You're hearing my thoughts."

"And you're hearing mine," he said with a smirk. "Fascinating, isn't it?"

"That's the potion you created?" she asked, a furrow lifting into her brow. "Telepathy?"

"More or less," he said with a shrug, tapping the end of his quill on the desk. "Of course, you weren't supposed to go and blow it up across us. Who _knows_ what else could happen?"

"That was _your_ fault," she hissed through clenched teeth.

His eyes rolled back. "Or you could have just given me the lacewings like I asked, without being a massive swot about it. You know I'm competent at potions."

Shaking her head, Hermione frowned. "You _invented_ it."

"Yes, Granger," he mused, "I invented it. And for the record, I can _feel_ your academic jollies getting off."

A dark blush suffused her cheeks to realize he'd been listening to her thoughts about his looks, his _arms_.

"You knew," she whispered, "those thoughts about my _arse_."

"Apparently the secrets are all out, hmm?"

Taken aback, she murmured, "But you hate me."

His lips twitched. "_Hate_ is a strong word. You irritate me. You make me envious. You make me _lustful_."

Heat flared in her cheeks once more and she looked away. "You've got a whole swath of the seven, haven't you? Pride, greed, wrath."

Brows flickering, he cracked a grin as his head fell to the side. "Just a right sinner. I've been known to be slothful too, Granger. And while we're being honest with one another, I'm more than willing to be gluttonous when it comes to you." His gaze fell to her mouth before snapping back up.

"Why are you saying this?" she breathed, tension rolling through her as her feet felt like lead, keeping her fixed to the spot.

"Because." He rose from his seat to lean against the wall behind the desk, eyes heavily lidded as he stared at her. "Your thoughts make it obvious you're attracted to me as well. You and I both know I don't need your tutoring, and we have _so_ much time alone in this room together."

"Absolutely not." Shaking her head, she rushed back to her bag, piling her notes inside. It was a stark realization to find that her hands were shaking. "If you aren't going to accept my tutelage, I think we're through here."

Amusement danced on Malfoy's face when she chanced a quick look over, and she sighed.

"You have to be here as much as I do," he said, snickering. "Fine – if you aren't ready to admit it out loud, I won't bring it up again." He waved a hand, settling back into his seat. "Carry on with your inane lesson, then. I'll even pretend I'm learning something."

Irritation at his countenance bubbled within her and she snapped, "How _kind_ of you."

His lips twitched once more. "I aim to please."

Huffing an irritated grumble under her breath, she returned to her notes for the lesson, doing her best to keep an iron clamp on any _inappropriate_ thoughts.

* * *

Later in the afternoon, Hermione was startled to realize she hadn't heard any of Malfoy's obnoxious thoughts in a while, and her eyes narrowed, surmising he must have fallen asleep. But when she wheeled to face him, his stare was fixed on her, a squint to his grey eyes as they snapped to hers.

"Has the spell worn off?" she choked out, dropping her hands to the desk behind her.

"Not even close," he drawled, doodling on that same blasted piece of parchment. "In fact, I'm growing a little tired of your internal monologue. Your head is an _exhausting_ place."

Storming closer, her eyes narrowed as she paused in front of where he sat. "Then how come I can't hear you anymore?" She tutted, shaking her head. "And what are you drawing that for anyways?"

"You aren't a very skilled Occlumens, Granger," he said, matter-of-fact as he returned to one of his drawings. "I am. I don't want you to hear what I'm thinking right now, because you'll get angry and self-righteous." Tapping the sheet with the opposite end of his pen, he added, "And clearly, I'm planning to get a tattoo."

"A tattoo," she repeated, consternation lifting her brow, even as his other explanation flitted through her thoughts. "Over your Mark?"

His expression tightened, jaw clenching. "You don't imagine I want that ugly reminder adorning my flesh for the rest of my life, do you?"

Hermione became highly aware of the fact that her breathing had gone shallow. They had never once broached the war or any related topics, and so to hear him mention his involvement as a Death Eater in such a casual manner left her mind spinning.

"Oh would you stop it," he huffed. "Yes yes, big bad Death Eater. Mind your own, then."

Fixing him with a long stare, Hermione pressed her mouth shut, making her best effort at keeping her mind blank once more. Unblinking grey eyes held hers, as if daring her to comment. Finally Hermione sighed, allowing her stare to peruse his sheet of potential ideas.

Softly, she said, "I like this one. Not that my opinion matters. You're… quite artistically talented."

His eyes blew wide even as they followed the line of her finger, where it rested beside a Dark Mark that was almost entirely concealed within a garden of brightly-coloured flowers.

The bridge of his nose twitched as he stared at the drawing. "They're narcissus. For my mother."

Something akin to a twinge of pity passed through her – maybe she had misjudged him. Maybe he'd been subjected to things beyond his control, like any of the rest of them. She saw Malfoy's hand clench tightly around his pen, but he didn't speak. Before walking away, she murmured, "They're lovely."

As she was preparing to return to the lesson, he drawled, with an almost deadened flippancy, "You're wrong." Her eyes lifted to meet his again, and his tongue flicked out. "I did know what I was doing, when I got involved with him – at least, I thought I did. We make decisions, and we need to face the consequences of those decisions. I deserved to wind up in Azkaban – like they all said."

There was something in his expression – something harsh, but something pleading – and Hermione frowned. "I don't think that's quite true. Sometimes the decisions we're faced with are impossible, and we can only do our best. You did what you thought you needed to do for your family. I don't think that merits a prison sentence, misguided though it was."

His eyes darkened as they held hers, but Hermione couldn't quite look away. A part of her expected him to blow up at her, or to storm out. But instead he snickered, looking away. "Misguided. Good one, Granger. Always looking for the best in people, even those who don't deserve it."

Chin held as high as she could manage, she breathed, "That isn't a flaw."

"No." His throat bobbed with a swallow. "It isn't a flaw. It just isn't something I'm used to."

"Maybe you need someone to look for the best in you."

The words chased out before she could stop them, but even if she had tried, he would have heard them on her thoughts anyways. His lips twitched with a hint of a smirk, as if reading the _current_ thoughts, and he chuckled, tucking his drawings safely away once more. "And I suppose that needs to be you."

Clicking her tongue, she snapped, "I don't see anyone else doing it."

His cold stare lingered on her for a long moment, long enough that she began to feel uncomfortable, and still he didn't look away. Opening his mouth to speak, he closed it again in haste. Finally he released a tight exhale, and said, "Anyways. You were droning on again."

An unexpected tremor of disappointment chased through her at his dismissal of what had been the truest moment to ever pass between the two of them. Hermione could only imagine the steel fortress he had built within himself – the vast extent of his defense mechanisms.

Chuckling as he listened to her thoughts, he bit out, "I am a bloody _expert_ at that, Granger."

Flushing, she returned to her notes.

* * *

Despite that Malfoy had told her he expected the consequences of the potion to linger for a few days, Hermione couldn't quite keep herself from the dismay when his thoughts jumped out at her the next day.

After their strange conversation the day before, Malfoy had maintained his rigid Occlumency shield, leaving her feeling on the wrong side of a vulnerable wall.

She had always meant to train in Legilimency and Occlumency but hadn't found the time while on the run with Harry and Ron. Now, she found herself wishing she had made the time.

"Morning," Malfoy drawled, his grey eyes alight with mischief as they met in the corridor outside of the classroom they'd been utilizing. The only time Hermione ever saw the other students and tutors were before or after the required time period, and sometimes when they took a brief lunch, but no one else was around.

Offering a stiff nod, Hermione said, "Hello."

Something within her sat, unsettled, at the depth of the conversation they'd shared the day before.

"We can share depth anytime you like," Malfoy snickered, and her eyes narrowed as he held the door for her, before she brushed past.

"You don't _need_ to turn all of my thoughts into inappropriate innuendos," she bit out. "In fact, I'd rather you not acknowledge them at all, especially since you're shielding your own."

"I won't shield my thoughts, then," he said, holding up his hands as he dropped his shoulder bag to the desk, drawing his parchment and quills from within. "But you might wish I had."

"Do your worst," she managed, lips twitching with a hint of humour. "At least we'll be on an even keel."

A flash of regret chased through her at the sinister, but darkly seductive look that crossed his face, and Hermione felt her insides spasm with desire. With a bark of laughter, he said, "If you think you can handle it, Granger. And my offer stands – you know, if you find yourself interested in acting on any of those deeply seated carnal urges. Merlin knows you're stronger than I am to refrain."

"I am _not_ interested," she bit out, her voice breathier than intended.

Looking away, Malfoy bit down on his lower lip to contain a grin. "By the way, I should apologize." Her eyes widened as she stared at him, waiting for the inevitable catch. "I let you believe I was _only_ interested in your body. When in fact…" His voice dropped, a husky quality that sent a shiver down her spine. "I find your mind to be _scintillating_."

Hermione froze, realizing they were standing far too close to be entertaining that sort of conversation. "Yesterday you said my mind is an exhausting place."

"Oh, fuck, it _is_," he clarified. "And I can't wait until I can extract myself. But the way you approach things – the way you think about life." His grey eyes were heated as they lifted to meet hers. "You're different, and smart as hell. It's a _huge_ turn-on."

"Malfoy," she grit through her teeth, a hot flush creeping into her face. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because," he drawled, sweeping his fringe from his face, "you don't want me to shield my thoughts. You'll hear them regardless."

"If you could just refrain from thinking about me in a sexual manner, at all, that would be great," she managed, forcing a facetious smile.

With a chuckle, he said, "What else am I supposed to do all day?"

"You could focus," she breathed, averting her stare as she made to put space between them before she did something she was bound to –

Malfoy's snickering put an abrupt halt to that train of thought.

His thoughts danced through her mind, and Hermione found she was beginning to notice the different quality between thoughts and words, even when she couldn't tell whether or not his mouth was moving. _You wouldn't regret it, Granger. _

Glancing at him once more from a safe distance, she allowed her next thought to drift through her mind. _Sexual attraction doesn't negate years of animosity_.

_But just think of the _passion_. _His gaze flashed.

Malfoy planted his hands flat on the table between them, his shoulders forward, fringe falling in his eyes as they locked on hers.

Her own thoughts felt feeble. _You hate me_.

_Merlin, no. _She could _feel_ the emphasis to his thoughts. _I told you this yesterday. I haven't hated you since we were kids – if I even did then._

Folding her arms, Hermione couldn't stop the childish petulance of her next thoughts. _You always say I'm droning. You don't pay any attention_.

_You _are _droning. And I'm paying attention to _you_, just not in the way you'd like in this particular setting_. His tongue swept his bottom lip. _I pay attention to the curve of your arse, and the way you leave your top buttons undone, and how I want to pull on those gorgeous curls –_

"That's enough of that," Hermione burst out, flushing as she turned to rifle through her bag.

Unbidden, and most assuredly inspired by his unfiltered thoughts, a mental image flashed through her mind. Malfoy stood behind her, his fingers gripping her hip as he pulled hard on her curls, dropping the back of her head to his shoulder as his teeth grazed the line of her jaw. His fingers crept beneath the waist of her skirt, dragging the fabric down her arse. Her scalp stung from the pressure even as desire pulsed, low and powerful, in her belly.

As sudden as it had come the image swept away, leaving Hermione clutching the table before her, a deep ache settled into her core.

Frowning, she chanced a glance in his direction and her eyes narrowed at the amusement playing across his face. The realization was stark and humiliating that he had planted the image there.

"Malfoy," she ground out, jaw clenched. "I thought the potion was for thoughts."

"What can I say," he breathed, "my thoughts are highly _visual_."

Shaking her head, she whispered, "Stop it."

"Fine." Just like that, he settled into his seat, preparing for the lesson. Surprised at his about face, Hermione eyed him cautiously before returning to her bag. He scoffed, marking the date at the top of a blank sheet of parchment. "Don't be so surprised. I'm not interested in forcing anything on you." His eyes met hers. "I'm only having a little fun. But if you want me to stop, I'll stop."

Everything he did and said left her feeling out of sorts, and in this case, more than a little turned on. Cursing herself for letting that particular thought through, she glanced up but he wasn't paying her any mind.

Cautiously, she murmured, "So that's all, then. I ask you to stop, you stop."

"Yep," he said, emphasizing the 'p' sound. "I'll put my shields up if you like, and you won't even have to hear my thoughts." With a humourless chuckle, he added, "I'm not a fucking monster, Hermione."

Her eyes flew wide at his casual use of her given name – she couldn't remember hearing him ever say it before. But he didn't even respond to that train of thought, as he began jotting notes on his sheet of parchment.

"You're impossible to understand, did you know?" she found herself whispering. His grey eyes landed on her for a moment before he looked away.

"Fascinating, given you can literally read my thoughts." He tapped his quill to the parchment in an anxious rhythm. "One would think you'd have figured it out by now."

"Figure what out?" Swallowing, her mouth felt dry.

"Brilliant, in matters of the brain," he mused. "Shall we carry on with Charms?"

Frowning, and more confused than ever, Hermione could only nod as they set to work.

* * *

By the time they separated at the end of the day, Hermione hadn't heard one sexual or crude thought pass through his mind – though she wasn't entirely certain he'd left his Occlumency walls down all day. He also hadn't commented on any of her thoughts.

In fact, he'd been the most amiable, if the most distant, she'd seen since they began their tutelage.

Something about it left her feeling cold. There had been a modicum of something akin to camaraderie between them the day before, and earlier that morning, and she wondered at the legitimacy of his words and thoughts.

After their last lesson – Herbology review – he had packed up his bag quietly, tucking his Muggle pen between his teeth as he slipped a few sheets of parchment carefully into his bag between two books to keep them flat.

As he tucked the pen into a narrow compartment on the inside of his bag, Hermione approached. "Thanks, for paying attention today."

"Right." He gave an even nod, his lips pressed flat. "Have a good night, Granger."

So it was back to Granger, then – she wondered whether he had even meant to call her Hermione, earlier.

"I meant it." His tone was dismissive, casual, as he shouldered his cloak. "But I wouldn't think too long on it. After all, come tomorrow the spell should hopefully be worn off, and we can put this all behind us, yes?"

Expectant grey eyes found hers, and Hermione found herself pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she breathed, "Yes." Then she hesitated, eyeing him closer as he slung his bag across his shoulder – he was moving quickly as if to get away. "Is everything okay? Did I… offend you or something?"

"Offend me," he echoed with an indelicate snort. "That takes an awful lot, Granger. You only put me in my place. So – tomorrow?"

Distracted, she managed a nod, even as she still wondered what he had meant about figuring it out. "Tomorrow."

He was gone before she could say anything else.

* * *

The aloof politeness that had characterized their interactions the day before persisted, and Hermione found herself once again wondering why he'd gone from teasing to distant. More importantly, she wondered why she cared.

She knew Malfoy could still hear her thoughts, but he continued to ignore even the most embarrassing considerations that passed through her mind, including the ones wondering about his behaviour.

When they broke for lunch, Hermione caught his arm as he made for the door. "Where are you going?"

Most days, they ate in silence in the classroom, since they were only granted a half hour.

"I'll be back," he said, making to extract his arm from her fingers. "I didn't pack anything to eat today."

"Neither did I."

His stare was searching but cautious as he offered a flippant shrug. "Then I guess we'll both run and grab something."

"Malfoy," she breathed, "is this because I asked you to stop yesterday?"

A single pale brow lifted, and he stared down at her in his most condescending way. "This is because a joke is only funny for so long. Clearly, I misread the situation, and I'm tired of messing with you. If my calculations are correct, the last of the spell should wear off by the time we leave today."

Hermione wasn't sure why the thought left her feeling bereft.

* * *

Five minutes late, Malfoy returned to the classroom, his expression blank as he settled into his seat once more. Perching on the edge of her desk, Hermione eyed him, attempting to discern his thoughts. But it seemed he had once more put up his Occlumency walls, leaving her wondering, again, why he'd put a stop to the teasing banter of the morning before.

He snickered but didn't speak as he drew his potions ingredients out of his bag.

Her eyes remained fixed on him, even as he began brewing his potion of the day, and finally he muttered, "Don't hurt yourself, Granger."

The few glimpses she'd seen into his mind over the past few days left her more than a little curious about the blond, and for some reason the thought that the potion's effects would soon wear off left her feeling anxious.

His teasing had been inappropriate and wholly sexual in nature, aside from the brief mentions about how he found her mind fascinating as well. Was she meant to discern something deeper from that?

Did her own intrigue go beyond a surface level?

The animosity between the two of them had always run so deep, and Hermione had come to realize she had never given any further consideration to who he was as a person. It was odd to think the war hadn't affected him as much as anyone else – he had admitted to wanting to cleanse his skin of the Dark Mark, and maybe he had come to regret his involvement in the war.

"Can you quit it," he ground through his teeth, and Hermione noticed his hand was still where it had been turning his potion, his gaze hard on the table. "If you have something to ask just bloody ask."

"Fine." Steeling her courage, Hermione folded her arms. "What's this all about then? Why stop bothering me over my thoughts?"

"You told me to stop." His brows flickered dismissively. "I stopped. Honestly, you don't have a fucking clue what you want, do you?"

"I want to know more about you," she whispered, the words escaping before she could consider the impact.

Eyes bulging slightly, Malfoy lifted his stare to meet hers across the room. "Not much to know. Failed as a Death Eater, narrowly avoided Azkaban, utter recluse. Bitter, cruel, filthy fucking rich."

"Thoughtful," Hermione added, "artistic, intelligent, creative."

As he pressed his lips together his throat bobbed with a thick swallow. "It doesn't matter – I told you, I was only having a bit of fun. Obviously, you're aware now I'm attracted to you, but don't go thinking it's more than it is."

"But it is," she whispered, mouth dry, "more. You said you like my mind."

"Your mind is fascinating," he managed, rubbing at the back of his neck. "And your bleeding Gryffindor heart."

Exhaling a long breath through her nose, Hermione steeled her nerves. Malfoy had managed to project a visual fantasy into her mind the day before, and without dwelling too long on the thought, she attempted to project one of her own.

The pair of them smiling as he slipped his hand in hers, entwining their fingers. His lips grazing her temple as he drew her closer. Hands, gentle but escalating as they met purchase on her bare skin. Her arse grazing back into him as he muttered something undetermined against the shell of her ear.

Malfoy's lips parted as he stared at her but he didn't speak, brows high with surprise.

"That's what it was, right?" she breathed. "What I was meant to figure out. It isn't sexual at all."

"Oh, it's sexual," he choked out, forcing a swallow. "Because there's no way in hell I'd ever deserve your heart."

Her head fell to the side, projecting quick snippets of thoughts into his mind as she considered him. "Don't you think that's a decision I should have a say in?"

In the projection, a soft whimper escaped her throat as she ground back against him, his hands catching her breasts, lips finding the sensitive flesh of her throat. But the image was coloured with intimacy of a different kind, a smile drawing from her lips as her eyes fluttered shut.

When he didn't respond but to stare blankly at her, shoulders tense as if preparing to run, Hermione added, "What were all the thoughts you've kept hidden from me?"

Releasing a stuttering exhale, Malfoy said, "They weren't about your arse." As he ran a hand through his hair, Hermione noticed the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the slight colouring to his cheeks. "Granger – can you stop that?"

In the vision, his fingers were gentle as they swept beneath her skirt, pulling her arse back as he ground into her. Her face turned to the side, her lips finding his.

Averting her gaze, Hermione asked, "Can't you figure it out?"

Shaking his head, slowly, as if in denial, his expression dropped. "You don't want me, Granger. Not like that. No one wants me for more than a night."

"Maybe you're better than you think you are." Taking a few steps closer, she peered up at him from across the table. "Maybe you feel that way because you've never let anyone in, and you hide behind bravado and innuendo because you don't feel worthy."

When he only stared at her, the skin around his eyes tightening, Hermione carried on, rounding the table to face him. "Maybe you were a failure as a Death Eater because that wasn't who you truly are. And… maybe you didn't go to Azkaban because… you deserve a second chance."

His breathing was heavy, chest rising and falling as he stared at her, and his fingers grazed the back of her hand, his grey eyes open and full of sorrow.

"Granger you –"

The words fell away as she pressed up on her toes, one hand landing on his chest, and her lips found his, a teasing graze of contact, before she drew back, blinking evenly at him.

Even knowing he could hear every wild, rampant thought as it chased through her mind, she held his stare. Even knowing he was still blocking his own thoughts.

But then he was kissing her again, and his walls shattered, his thoughts washing over her in a convoluted, indiscernible mass as his hands swept into her curls, his mouth hard against hers. A gasp chased from her throat, moisture stinging at her eyes at the emotional onslaught, and his tongue swept through her lips, finding hers as her hands coiled around his neck.

One of his hands dropped to the small of her back, hitching her body flush against his; she could feel the hard panes of his chest and stomach press against her and the soft whimper that chased from her mouth was muted by his lips.

His thoughts mingled with hers, undefended, and she could feel as he did as he held tight to her face, his lips drawing away to brush against her jaw, down the line of her throat as he hitched her up onto the table.

Legs wrapping around his waist, Hermione groaned to feel his awareness of her, and he released a rattling exhale as he sucked at the sensitive flesh of her neck and collarbone. Desire coiled like a spring, deep in her belly and her fingers dropped to tug at the hem of his shirt, dragging it up along his abdomen and chest.

Malfoy wrenched away, his hair disheveled and face flushed as he stared at her, eyes seeking, and she offered a nod and a hint of a smile.

Shifting to oblige her, he shrugged out of the rest of his shirt, and as his fingers came up to pluck free the line of buttons on her shirt, pushing the fabric from her shoulders, his hands took hold of the lacy cups of her bra. Rummaging for his wand with a smirk, he cast a series of charms – silencing, locking, and contraceptive from what she could surmise – and her eyes fluttered shut as his lips and tongue trailed a path into the soft line of her cleavage.

The strands of his hair were impossibly fine and soft as she coiled her fingers in his locks, her other hand slipping to the closure of his trousers, fumbling with one hand, and she could feel the smirk against her skin.

Dragging the cups of her bra free, he laved her nipples with his fingers and tongue, and his eyes darted up to meet hers. Swallowing, he muttered, "I feel like we should be doing this in bed."

With a bright laugh, Hermione broke through the button on his jeans, pushing them from his hips as she tugged him closer. Breathy, she whispered, "This feels oddly appropriate."

A wicked curl crossed his mouth as his eyes darkened. Shifting her further onto the table, he slipped his hands beneath her skirt, and his hot stare rested on hers as he dragged her damp knickers free, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

Bunching her skirt around her hips, he murmured, "In that case, I'll mention I've wanted to fuck you into a desk since sixth."

Eyes wide at his blatant admission, a groan chased from her throat as he slipped one finger, then a second, into her heat. He muttered something unintelligible, eyelids fluttering as he set a slow, teasing rhythm into her.

Half distracted, Hermione reached a hand into his shorts, taking his hard length in a hand, and giving it several slow pumps. He dropped his face into her neck, lips finding the skin there, before he pushed his shorts down the rest of the way, toeing them off with the rest of their discarded clothing.

Her heart rate escalated wildly, head falling back as his relentless pressure pushed her to the edge, and she tugged at him harder, drawing his cock towards her opening.

Grey eyes found hers, glazed with lust, and he murmured, "You're sure?"

"Merlin, yes," she managed, and humour danced in his eyes as he withdrew his fingers, sheathing himself inside her in one swift movement. They shared a groan, and Hermione propped her elbows on the table behind her as he kissed her, drawing her bottom lip into his mouth.

Legs wrapping around his waist, her heart raced a frantic cadence as he set a slow, teasing rhythm, building in pace and pressure until his fingers gripped her hips, dragging her closer to the edge of the table and supporting her with one arm.

His face buried into her neck, hips snapping against hers, and Hermione found her eyes rolling back into her skull as he pushed her closer to the edge. His name tumbled from her lips, her vision going black as release swept through her every nerve, and her hands tangled in his hair as she pulled him in. With a few final thrusts, he muttered something vague against her mouth and stilled.

Chest heaving, he stared at her, blinking slowly as a lazy smile tugged at his lips before he pressed a soft kiss to her mouth.

Extracting himself from within her, he cast a spell to clean them both, before straightening her bra, dragging her skirt back down, and dressing in his own shorts. Feeling a satisfied smile pull at her lips, she swept her hands down the length of his arms when they propped on the table to either side of her.

"That," he mused, grey eyes sparkling, "was your best lesson yet."

With a bright laugh, Hermione dropped down from the table, finding herself closer to him than she'd anticipated. "Right," she said, cracking a wry smile, "I noticed you were actually paying attention."

"You weren't droning, so…" he trailed off with a wink, before dragging on his jeans and shirt. He stared at her, long after they were both dressed and righted. "Not a one-off, then?"

A curious smile tugged at Hermione's mouth, and something about the situation just felt _right_. "Definitely not a one-off." Hesitating, she stared at him for a moment. "Occlumency walls?"

"Down," he mused, understanding dawning on the pair of them at once that the space between them was silent at last. "I _did_ say it would probably wear off this afternoon."

"Well then." Hermione trailed her fingers down his chest, catching his hand and entwining their fingers. "I suppose you'll just have to be honest with me."

Swallowing, he nodded. "If you can have patience when I inevitably fuck up."

Pressing her lips to his, Hermione murmured, "I'm a fairly patient person." Hesitating, her head dropped to the side. "You stole my knickers, didn't you?"

"I did," he admitted. "You shouldn't have left them laying there." His tongue darted out. "Patience, remember?"

Shaking her head, she fought a smile. "Your logic is a disaster, you know?"

One hand sliding down to grip her arse, he smiled. "I know – but I did warn you I'm not good at this."

Fingers coiling in the fabric of his shirt, she drew him closer. "What are you doing for dinner?"

"I don't know," he breathed, "but something tells me I have plans."

There was a bright sparkle behind the grey in his eyes as they found hers, and as his hand gave hers a squeeze, something clenched in her chest. Whatever it was, it felt like the promise of something good.


End file.
